May the 4th be with you..

Things were different for me in a multitude of ways when I made my last post. Since then so many things have changed, as all things tend to do, with time. This post won’t be about arts and crafts or my silly store or any other such stuff so here is your chance not to read it…


On April 12th, a Saturday, I got a call from Tasha, a girl (ahem, sorry, a grown ass woman) I’ve known most of my life. I’d say she’s my best friends but there have been periods of time where we didn’t speak or we were friends but we had other friends we would consider our best friends. Besides, “best friend” doesn’t really feel like a strong enough term. No, it’s something different. We’re life long friends. Forever friends. We have a fantastic connection that isn’t found very often in this life and so calling her simply a best friend doesn’t really cover it. Anyway, my friend called me and asked me if I’d been on social media yet that day, I hadn’t. She then told me that her husband (who she’d been separated from for about 2 years) had passed away. Technically they were still married so it was she the coroner reported to. I’ve tried to spend as much time as possible with her and her daughter since that day. I’ve been over at her house or with her running errands, celebrating birthdays and holidays, just kicking back, whatever. I don’t know if it’s helped much, but she definitely appreciates me and we’re always honest with each other so if she didn’t want me around she would say so.


Either way since April 12th life has been different. It transitioned and changed. Dealing with the loss of Robert was and is really hard. I could write so much about him and I want to. I will too, but not now. I’ll just say that 33 is too young to die. He was very loved and he is very missed. This is the only picture I have that I took of him. His M.O. was to piss me off and almost immediately be so sweet we’d end up exchanging I love yous. My “I love you” was always followed by, “but you’re fucking annoying.” He knew I meant both though.



Through the process of this whole thing I felt privileged to be a part of it. Also terrified and sad. On the one hand, let me just say, the hardest part for me wasn’t him being dead. That part was just hard to comprehend. The hard part was seeing people I love hurting so badly. The hard part was sitting at the mortuary waiting for the funeral director to come back with information in dead silence with my friend and Robert’s best friends and seeing through the window the big black hearse being parked by some tattooed employee. The hard part was seeing his daughter’s face while I was speaking at his funeral, trying not to throw up or cry or shake too much while I said my piece. The hard part is seeing my friend do her very best to deal with it all while parenting a little girl who is acting out because her dad is dead.

We’re spreading his ashes at one of his favorite spots this weekend.


Simultaneously things have been changing in lots of ways around me. It’s harder for me to pretend I don’t care when I’m hurt. I’m fucking ace at pretending I don’t care. Since birth I’ve taken everything personally. As an adult I realize not everything or even most things are about me. Still, I get my feelings crushed occasionally, so I deal with it but I don’t let it show. I’ve moved to the far reaches of the country and everywhere in between. Geographical locations don’t really mean much in the big and small of things. Problems are still problems weather you’re across town or across the country. My problems haven’t changed much. The only problem I have is feeling too much. I’ve always felt too much. That’s why I’m a comfort to others, I think. I can feel what they’re going through and I try my best to join them. If you’re gonna sit in a dark closet, I’ll sit with you till you feel like coming out. If you need to cry or scream or just get things off your chest, I’ll always listen and I’ll always give you honest feed back, if you want it. If sharing another person’s pain eases it then I will do it. The people who make my life worth living deserve anything I can give them, even if it’s just a hug or a laugh or my time. Maybe not all of us measure success and worth in dollar signs, a six pack, and ass kissers. Maybe I’m successful and exactly where I’m supposed to be, doing exactly what I should be doing. How can anyone really know for sure?

What I do know is this… nothing is trivial. Life is stupidly short. We don’t know when it will end, just that it will. We don’t know what, if anything, comes after. So… this, right now, is the best chance to get the most out of life. Maybe you can’t pack up and drive to the coast or the mountains or wherever your happy place is but you could make some lemonade and read a book, or tickle someone who needs it, or tell someone you care about that you do care. All the stuff that happens in between what you think your life is till you die is more you than all the serious bullshit we think matters. Love matters. Kindness matters. Honesty matters. Compassion matters.


If you made it this far I applaud you. You’re pretty great. Thanks for reading this ramble of mine.